


Pretender

by sqidervbck



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, BUT EVERYONE KIND OF FORGOT???, Gen, Hurt Tim Drake, Hurt/Comfort, NOT IN THIS FIC HUNNY, Sad Tim Drake, TIM HAS LOST LITERALLY EVERYTHING, Tim Drake Whump, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Tim has issues, Tim needs a hug, Tim-centric, Whump, because we all need a tim, but I love seeing him in pain even more, don't ask what this is, honestly he's just tired, i love my baby, im sorry, poor Tim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 03:53:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19099219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sqidervbck/pseuds/sqidervbck
Summary: “Hey there, Pretender.”And it made Tim hesitate for a moment; hold back the insult which had been bubbling in the pit of his throat and just pause. Because Jason was right and for once, Tim couldn’t argue. He was right.





	Pretender

“Hey there, Pretender.”

And it made Tim hesitate for a moment; hold back the insult which had been bubbling in the pit of his throat and just pause. Because Jason was right and for once, Tim couldn’t argue. He was right.

He was a pretender, a fake, a stand in. And Tim couldn’t handle it anymore. He kept pretending. His whole life was a new persona which he couldn’t remember ever breaking out of because all he did was go from Red Robin to Red to Tim Drake-Wayne to Timmy to Drake to Replacement and he could never just be Tim anymore. Because nobody liked Tim. Tim didn’t matter to anyone.

He just had to fight the good fight, chuckle when necessary, act as if he’s ever actually paying attention anymore (because he hardly slept, and now he was just running on coffee and energy drinks). He had to hide the dark eyes with a quiet comment and a smile which was so fucking fake it actually hurt. He had to change himself so everyone else could be happy, could be satisfied, didn’t have to fake it. Just act like the perfect little brother for Dick and be the witty CEO for the public but don’t get too cocky because nobody likes an arrogant rich kid. Shoot aggressive comebacks at Damian and Jason and always take the blame for any fight despite the fact that he never started them. Because Dick and Bruce wanted Jason and Damian to be their perfect family, so it wouldn’t matter if Tim took the fall for them, would it?

And he was doing what is mother had taught him; to fake everything. Fake happiness and the public thinks you’re the sweetest family ever, fake a smile and you’re the brightest Wayne there was, fake an education because you dropped out years ago (he was failing every lesson due to too much work and not enough time, despite the fact that he knew everything and ten levels higher) and you’ll make your father so fucking proud, fake laughs and jokes and having a good time because you can’t have a good time when all you’re doing is pretending. And Tim wanted to laugh, because he was so caught up in faking that he forgot what was real. 

Did he really forgive Dick for giving away Robin with less than a glance, or was that just what he told him? Did he really forget about the time— no, three times Jason tried to kill him, or is that what he told Bruce so that a father wouldn’t be so disappointed in his son? Did he really not care that nobody said sorry for thinking Tim was insane, throwing him to the side once Bruce was back and not even asking how did you do it, Tim? Are you okay?

Tim also wanted to cry. He wanted to drop every single fucking fake face that he had to put on, to just be Tim for once without faking it. He wanted to finally snap. To finally get past that point where he could feel it rising in his chest, the tightness of his throat, the sting of his eyes. He wanted to just let go all the pain he had been holding back his whole life. Because the last time he snapped was when his mother died. It was just a crack of his facade when he realised just how shitty of a mother she had been. This was her fault.

But he hadn’t snapped since then, and years of pain, of mourning, of tears that he never truly got to cry were still bottled within him. Within his throat, the tightness caused by years of choking back emotions.

Losing Robin.

Being pushed out of the fucking family.

Being almost killed by his brothers. Numerous times.

Bruce’s death.

Bart, Kon.

Stephanie, Damian.

His father.

Everyone around him had died, but the feeling of loss never really sunk in until it was too late and he had to move on. Everyone else had moved on, you missed your chance of mourning, now you just have to suck it up. And he had. He just locked back the grief and the pain, and bottled it within him. And to be honest, this was bound to happen from the beginning, but he had been so ignorant and didn’t want to admit that he was lost and quite possibly beyond redemption.

So when he pushed past Dick and Jason, rushed up to his room with a slam of the door and finally released that forever held tear, his family weren’t the only ones surprised. 

He collapsed onto his bed, bending over as he heaved breaths of air — is this what drowning felt like? Like every breath was killing him but all he needed to breath at the same time? Tim’s eyes were blown wide (fear, shock) as he choked, heaving ragged breaths through his teeth like a broken vacuum. And everything fucking hurt. His eyes stung and his chest ached. It was too hot.

Tim pushed himself off the mattress, tumbling through the bathroom which connected to his room. There was laundry on the floor and the sink was a mess of gause and medicine (he still hadn’t cleaned up since the last rushed doctor-Tim). Tripping over a shirt, he leaned against the sink with both palms, staring at his ghostly reflecting before blinking slowly. He missed the pair of scissors which fell off the ledge and sliced across his left calf and didn’t even notice the blood which dripped onto the floor. He was too distracted, too preoccupied.

It was too hot. His skin was melting and oh god where the fuck did the air conditioning go? Panting, he shoved his shirt over his head and stumbled into the shower, twisting the water on freezing-cold-ow-frostbite. And he sighed when he felt the icy liquid travel down his back like the veins in his wrist. He could feel his hair become wet and heavy as it hugged the nape of his neck, curling around his ears. 

And for the first time in about eight years, Tim finally cried. Because he had lost so much, had gone through so much, faked so much, pretended that everything was fine for so long. He slid down the shower wall, head tilted back against white tiles as freezing water pitter-patted down on his skin like rain on a gloomy day. The blood from his leg trailed through the water and down the drain as Tim shivered in only his pajama shorts. 

The pain was unbearable, like a throbbing where his heart was. And it was so strange since he hadn’t felt anything this agonising before. Like he was drowning and his heart was just bleeding. He released a sob, clenching his upper teeth into the flesh of his bottom lip. He could barely feel the split of pink flesh in comparison to the way his chest ached. He screamed.

Is this what he had been holding back? Is this what loss felt like?

And maybe the water shouldn’t be that cold, since his skin was blue and his toes were numb, but he couldn’t stand the heat. It was just too hot. His eyes were on fire and his heart ragged on through the pain.

“Tim?” He could vaguely hear his name through the haze. There were figures, dark shadows. “Jaso — … no, go get Br— panic atta— Alfred needs t—… Tim?”

He was shivering, crying, a hot mess minus the hot and double the mess. There were crescents in his palms from his nails and his bottom lip had split open, blood pouring down his chin like a fucking zombie. Everything was too loud and hot and oh god it hurt—

There was a hand on his shoulder (warm, large, firm, something to focus on). Bruce.

His cries were caught in his throat, knees pulling into his chest because no, he couldn’t be like this in front of Bruce.

“Tim, I need you to breath,” Bruce’s deep voice cut through the heat and noise like a knife, giving Tim some of his senses back.

His vision finally focused in on his father, the man’s eyes filled with worry and pain. And there were people in the bathroom, to the side of the shower. Dick, Alfred, Jason, even Damian (oh god, he was never going to hear the end of this). He really didn’t think he could take another one of Damian’s insults at the moment.

And panic began rising in his chest again, the instinct to run so goddamn prominent that Tim pushed himself from Bruce who had crouched next to him. He ignored the feeling of his head slamming into white tile as he moved as far away from everyone as possible.

“No, no, no,” his pleas quickly turned into mumbled nonsense.

“Tim, please.”

The boy whimpered, tasting metallic blood on his tongue. “No— I’m sorry, I can’t. I can’t do this — I can’t do this anymore, it hurts. I can’t, I’m sorry.” Tim doubted he made any sense.

“My son—”

“No, no, I can’t, I can’t, B. I lost you, I lost everyone. Y-You, Bart, Ko-Kon, Dick, Father, Damian, Steph, even Jason when he was Robin. That’s — that’s everyone… I — I had nothing… and — and I held it back… I couldn’t be weak, for — for you, for Dick,” Tim cried, teeth chattering from the cold, but he didn’t feel cold. “I pretended everything — everything was fine… but it’s not — it’s not, B, it’s not fine… I’m not fine. Please, I can’t — I can’t lose everything again… not again — I can’t keep faking it anymore.”

And it seemed that all was quiet, except for the quick tickle of the water on the shower floor. Tim released a small hiccup as tears rolled down his cheeks.

“I know, son,” Bruce promised. “I know.”

Tim blinked slowly. “No,” he whispered. “No, you don’t.”

Bruce didn’t answer. He simply pulled his limp, bleeding, shivering son into his arms and held him against his chest, as if it would shield him from all the things that made him feel so lost. And Tim just cried. He cried because finally, he didn’t have to pretend.


End file.
